


Witchy Woman

by MizJoely



Series: SherlollyPrompts [41]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Demon!lock, F/M, Incubus!Sherlock, PWP, Sherlolly - Freeform, Witch!Molly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 12:36:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16408631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: Sometimes a witch just wants a night with a hot demon...what's so wrong about that?





	Witchy Woman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rottenbrainstuff (queencockroach)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queencockroach/gifts).



> This little smutfest was totally inspired by the artwork noisymouse did for Inktober '18 and posted on tumblr. Here's the link if you want to take a peek!
> 
> https://mizjoely.tumblr.com/post/179423722992/mizjoely-noisymouse-inktober-day-4-spell

He felt the slightest tug on his soul, a gentle feeling that would soon become a demand he would be unable to ignore. A command pulling him from  _here_ to  _there_ , a chance to be free of this eternal boredom, to once again put his considerable talents to use.

To exercise his body, yes, but more importantly - his mind. There was always a puzzle to work out when he was summoned to seduce some hapless mortal. A problem to be solved.

A summoner, in short, to be outsmarted.

"Yesss," he sighed out in a hiss, unfurling his wings and raising his arms in anticipation.

As he felt the tug become an irresistible pull, his demonic essence unraveling itself for the journey to the human plane, the incubus named Sherlock smiled.

**oOo**

He materialized in a dark room, in the precise center of the expected pentagram, drawn in chalk and encircled with mingled layers of sea and - he sniffed, let his long, forked tongue slither out to taste the air - Himalayan salt, an unusual but potent combination. His estimation of whoever had summoned him rose fractionally, as did his interest. "Who calls me?" he demanded, taking in what details he could despite the muffling confines of his mystical prison. The room was dark, but the echoes of his voice told him it was, indeed, a room, one with walls of stone to match the floor upon which he stood. No windows, and a certain damp chill that spoke more of underground than above.

A cellar then, or possibly a cave. His respect for his mysterious summoner rose another notch; when bringing forth a demon, it was always safest - for the mortal, that is - to be surrounded by flameproof material. Even a  _libidine_ like himself could summon enough hellfire to immolate an enemy or two...hundred.

Speaking of...he allowed a small flame to form between his fingers, and was rewarded by his first sight of the one who had called him forth.

She was small, was his first thought. Tiny in form and figure, with enormous brown eyes above her upturned, pixiesh nose. Some Fae blood ran through her veins, he'd never been more certain of anything in his immortal life.

But then, that was true of the best sorcerers.

His lips curled in a lazy smile as she lit a single candle with a gesture, bringing herself more clearly into his view. She lounged on a throne-like chair, a grimoire resting on one stone arm. She closed it and stood, murmuring a spell that enclosed both the candle and spell-book within a globe of protective energy. Pricking the tip of one finger with a needle pulled from one voluminous black sleeve, she allowed three drops to fall onto the globe, sizzling and vanishing from sight.

Thus ensuring that only her living blood would be able to banish the spell. A wise woman, indeed.

Oh, this was going to be  _interesting_.

"Wise precautions," was all he said aloud. With a thought he banished the small spark he'd summoned, then continued to study her.

A black, pointed hat rested above her tumble of chestnut tresses, the traditional headwear of witches, as was the long black robe she wore. The sleeves swept down from her wrists, nearly touching the floor and covering the backs of her small hands. Her legs were bare; as she uncrossed them and rose to her (small, bare) feet, the movement revealed glimpses of the pale flesh of her shapely thighs. So, not as much of a traditionalist as she first appeared.

Good.

She stopped just outside of the circle of salt, one toe tantalizingly close to the mingled white and pale pink grains. The slightest movement and she would break the circle, and if she had not obtained his bonding word first...allow him to do whatever he wished.

He could kill her easily, he mused, studying the slender neck. Ravish her in the most painful and humiliating way possible.

Or leave, wander the world and wreak whatever havoc he chose...visit the many places to which he'd never been summoned yet had an immense curiosity about. Study the fall of ash from pipes and see if it was truly possible to divine the origins of the tobacco used by the smoker.

So many possibilities, all held suspended as he waited to see if she would make that small, careless move and thus seal her fate. But as he studied her (warm, Earth-brown) eyes, his own narrowed in speculation, and his lips curled in a dark smile at what he read there.

"So, Witch," he said, stretching his arms lazily above his head, making sure to arch his back in order to emphasize his considerable endowments, "who is it you wish me to seduce?"

As if that question wasn't immediately obvious. Still, he wished to hear it from her (small but shapely) lips.

Taking a deep breath, she reached for the ties of her belt, undoing them, allowing the slim bit of leather to drop to the floor safely behind her. Then she pulled open her robes, sliding them down her shoulders, down her arms, letting them fall in a black puddle around her dainty white feet, without so much as dislodging a single grain of salt. Impressive. "Me."

He smiled, a slow, feral smile that showed a glimpse of his gleaming fangs. "Well then," he purred, "what are the terms of our agreement?"

"One night of pleasure for us both, and freedom from the boredom of the Hell plane for you," she replied promptly, her business-like tone belied by the shining heat of her eyes as she kept them up to meet his. "I pledge not to banish you before dawn breaks unless you attempt to cheat me." She gestured to the bespelled candle flame. "Should you do so, a single thought will break the bubble of protection I've cast, and send you back from whence you came."

His gaze turned admiring; her precautions were flawless, clever and, in his experience, quite unique. Oh how she continued to surprise and delight him! He'd not admired a mortal this much in decades, or had it been centuries?

No matter. "Agreed," he said promptly, then used one claw to prick the tip of his forefinger. He allowed three drops of blood to fall onto the floor, and the bargain was sealed. Then, looking pointedly down at the protective circle still trapping him, he added, "Shall we begin?"

With a flirtatious smile, she moved her foot forward just enough to disturb the circle of salt, scattering pink and white grains so that they mingled with his blood.

And so the protective circle was broken.

He wasted no time in retracting his claws and morphing his fangs into a set of even white teeth, but didn't bother to change any other aspect of his physical form; something told him his lovely little witch wouldn't mind a bit if he left the curling horns on his head, or used his tail to tease and enfold her, or be put off even the slightest bit by his vestigial wings (useless for actual flying but he despised flying as inefficient, much faster to apport between locations).

And so it proved, as he pulled her into his arms, winding his tail round her thigh and teasing her quinny with its (now blunted) tip. She gasped and pressed herself against his lean form, trapping his erection between them, tilting her lips up to his in obvious invitation.

He quickly lowered his head and captured her mouth in a kiss, hard and demanding as he sensed no need for softness with his soon-to-be paramour. And so it proved; she returned the kiss with equal passion, her lips parting eagerly beneath his, her tongue twining against his as he invaded her hot little mouth.

Her hands, so small yet surprisingly strong, crept up his chest and shoulders, pausing briefly to glide through his dark curls before sliding up to caress his dark red horns. He groaned and gripped her thigh, hoisting it up to rest against his hip as he ground himself against her. He slid his tail provocatively against her moist center before easing it away in order to wrap it around her small waist.

He groaned against her lips as she continued to stroke his horns - no, wait, just the left one, the most sensitive of the pair. A fortunate accident, surely? But when he pulled back to study her face, he discerned the truth. "You summoned me specifically. You  _know_ me. How?" he demanded, his curiosity as fully aroused as were his loins.

"I've studied your kind for many years," she replied, seemingly unperturbed at this interruption of their carnal activities. "Cataloging you, noting your preferences, your idiosyncrasies, your habits...demons are fascinating," she added, eyes shining with what he recognized as passion of a different sort than what she had summoned him for. Passion for knowledge, for understanding.

A passion he could appreciate, as it well complemented his own.

She continued stroking the sensitive horn, trailing the fingers of her other hand down the nape of his neck to the arch of his leathery wings. "And once I'd finished my research, I chose  _you_  Sherlock Homerus,  _libidine_ , Incubus, cleverest and most...talented...of all your brethren," she breathed, reaching down to stroke the length of his erection in a most enticing manner. "When I decided to find a worthy being to share my bed, I knew only the best would do."

"Surely a human lover would be...safer?" he suggested, taking her earlobe between his lips and nipping at it teasingly.

"Safe," she scoffed. "I've had safe. Safe is boring, don't you think?" She met his gaze again and smiled a wicked, wanton smile. "Why settle for  _safe_ when you can have...exciting?"

Dangerous, she meant. And oh, she was dangerous herself; so tiny, so harmless she appeared at first glance, that he could well believe the unobservant would dismiss her as such.

He, however, was no such fool. He captured her lips in another kiss, sliding his hand down to cup the cheeks of her arse, flicking the area between with the tip of his tail as he untwined it from her waist. "Why indeed," he said, then summoned a sumptuous pile of furs atop which they might lie together.

His opinion of his witch grew as she murmured a spell of protection against fire that covered not only the furs but her discarded clothing. Her choice in paramours might be the very definition of dangerous, but the spell she'd cast demonstrated her practical nature as clear as the cursed daylight that would eventually cover the land.

She lay beneath him, her clever fingers doing some truly interesting things as he settled himself above her, but he quickly set about demonstrating to her why she'd been right to choose him, covering her throat and milky white breast with dark love-bites. He was careful not to break the skin, but that was the only way in which he restrained himself.

Before he could continue his oh-so-fascinating journey down her body, she surprised him yet again by flipping them so that she rested above him. Kneeling up, she gazed down at him with a look of purest lust in her eyes. Pausing only to press a brief kiss against his lips, she slithered out of his grasp and knelt between his legs, taking his heavy cock in her hands. Gripping him tightly, she gave him a playful smile, then bent down and sucked the tip of his member between her lips.

Sherlock's head arched and a startled gasp escaped his lips. Never in his immortal life had a woman - or man, for that matter - done such a thing for him. Always  _he_ was the seducer, the giver of pleasure (and many times pain both wanted and unwanted). For someone to do this - for  _her_ to do this - for him was, simply put, beyond his experience.

He bit back on further groans, desperately attempting to access his  _memoriae regis_  in order to focus this thoughts and keep from embarrassing himself by spilling into her mouth. Perhaps it wasn't Fae blood he sensed in her, but rather that of a Succubus?

No. His instincts, his senses, and more importantly, his mind all told him his first assessment was the true one. She was simply ( _imply?_  his mind suggested with what felt suspiciously like a chortle, despite his dislike of such childish word-play) a woman who knew well how to please a man - and had chosen thusly to please him.

However, he would be no true  _libidine_ were he to allow her to continue her efforts without demonstrating that he, too, could bring pleasure with more than just his considerable endowments. So after only a few (glorious, sublime) minutes, he eased his tail beneath her chin, pressing lightly until she finally lifted her head from his cock. "Problem?" she asked, although her dark smile told him she knew the truth.

"You are full of delightful surprises, my dear witch," he replied, not bothering to hide the naked lust in his eyes. "However," he added, lowering his smooth baritone into the deep, velvety register that never failed to affect his partners, "you didn't summon me here that you might pleasure me...but that _I_ might pleasure  _you_."

With those words he sat up, pulling her to him for a lingering kiss before lying her back on the soft furs he'd summoned. After another kiss they were both reluctant to break, he slid sinuously down her soft white form, peppering her belly and thighs with kisses and more love-bites, enjoying every gasp and whimper of pleasure/pain he pulled from her lips. He wasted no time in pressing his mouth to her sex, already slick with her musky feminine essence, a flavor which he would never tire of.

He flicked his tongue against her, tasting and breathing her in, enjoying the shivers his delicate touch evoked. Soon he had her begging for release, but refused to speed his movements until he heard her desperately calling his name. Only then did he raise his head up so that his gaze caught hers. "First you must grant me a boon."

"What?" she gasped out.

"Your name. Share it with me?"

He worded the request quite deliberately, not wanting her to see it as a demand or an attempt to gain power over her. He asked only for the name anyone might call her by, and was pleasantly surprised when she offered it to him without the slightest hesitation. "Molly," she sighed. "Molly the Hooper's daughter."

"Molly," he murmured, savoring the feel and taste of it in his mouth as if were a delicious treat. As, indeed, it was, albeit not so delicious as the taste of her flesh. With that thought he returned to his ministrations, finally laving his tongue over her hidden pearl, teasing it into fully exposing itself and dancing along it with soft strokes until finally his witch cried out his name in cresting pleasure.

He gave her no time to recover herself, settling his body once again over hers and pressing his overheated flesh against the seam of her sex. She opened her legs for him willingly - nay, eagerly, wrapping her arms round his shoulders, her fingers ghosting along upper edge of the leathery membrane of his wings before sliding up to tangle in his hair. "Love me, Sherlock," she gasped as he eased his length inside her.

"It will be my pleasure," he purred, thrusting himself deep, deep within her. His tail stroked along her calves and thighs, then twined itself round her ankles as she wrapped her legs around his waist, binding her in place.

Were he of a mind to betray her, a single stab of the razor-sharp tip of that appendage would be all it would take; the venom acted so quickly that even a witch as clever and careful as she, with all her precautions, would be unable to summon the mental will to set off the protections she'd set in place before succumbing to death. But he had no desire to test her in such a permanent manner; even as he thrust and grunted while deep inside her, he knew the realm of the mortals would be a far less interesting place without her in it.

And so he kept the wicked point retracted, and returned his focus to bringing her once again to the peak of pleasure.

He could feel her clenching around his cock, heard her murmuring delirious love-words in his ear, knew she was nearly there and prepared to prolong his own pleasure during her  _orgasmus_ when the unexpected happened: her even white teeth bit hard against his throat, drawing blood and startling a roar out of him as he felt the hot gush of his seed pumping out of his cock and filling her womb.

Only then, he realized dimly as he shuddered through the final seconds of his release, did she too reach her peak.

Once again, his witch ( _his?_ ) had surprised and delighted him.

As he lay panting above her, resting on his elbows and staring down at her in wonder and the slightest bit of alarm, she smiled dreamily and reached up to stroke his sweat-dampened curls from his brow. "Now that," she purred, "was well worth the risks. I can only hope the rest of the night will pass in equal pleasure for us both."

"Damned right it will," Sherlock mumbled before covering his mouth with his own.

A demon he might be, created for evil, but tonight his sole aim was to prove himself anything but a liar.


End file.
